


The Pirate and the Stowaway

by rrueplumet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrueplumet/pseuds/rrueplumet
Summary: Captain Jacinta Garcia finds a noble stowaway aboard her pirate ship.





	The Pirate and the Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: There's some kinky stuff but it's a pretty mild. Playing with innocence and power but nothing intense. It's erotica and no plot. Also some spanking. As one does.
> 
> And if you like this, I've got more stories on patreon.com/butchboigirl :D

The little virgin stowaway has absolutely no business looking like that. 

The young woman blathers in explanation – _needed passage_ , _unkind father_ , _no money_ , et cetera – but Jack is far more interested in the delicate mouth shaping those words than the words themselves. 

Captain Jacinta Garcia slouches in her chair, tapping a booted foot against the sturdy wood floor of her private cabin. The ship sways gently, just enough the gentle lilt affects her sensibilities. The soft back-and-forth hums through her body; Jack belongs to the sea, and the sea to her, and its rhythm pounds in her core. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Captain,” the stowaway says, “Really. If I had any other choice, I would have…” 

She goes on. Flushed and nervous, a quiver in her voice and shiver in her frame. Her skin is unblemished and looks smooth as fine silk. She must belong to the landed gentry, or some adjacent class. Completely untouched, unspoiled, unworked. 

When Jack ordered for the girl’s hands to be shackled behind her back, she thought it would eliminate her threat. But regarding the young woman now, hours later, alone in her cabin, the girl has more power than anyone to undo every meticulous construction of the pirate captain’s character. 

Jack’s blood thunders and her sex throbs wetly, because the girl was stripped to her underthings, a thin white shift and nothing else— and with her shoulders pulled back, with her breasts thrust forward, Jack can see the peaks of her nipples against the material. 

Christ almighty, but the woman is made for sin. A tragic jest of God, no doubt—blessing the world with such a creature and throwing her to the dogs of the gentry class. Tragically doomed to wear high-collared dresses and marry a man who could never help her understand the pleasures of her body. A narcissistic rich fool who would rut against her long enough to secure a child, then roll over and snore all night. 

In Jack’s occupation, a more androgynous form has always suited her.  Half her liberation was found in her chosen attire. Masculine dressage was a fine preference that suited her big, sturdy form. 

But with night descending, she has undone herself just a bit. Her short hair has grown just a little longer, enough to run her fingers through, and she hasn’t bothered with a trim. Neither has she bound her form so meticulously tonight. But for all that she has allowed her shirt to hang open to the obvious curve therein contained, it is nothing next to the sight before her. Jack is a hard woman. But the woman in front of her is truly _lush_. Perfectly plump and rosy-cheeked. Handfuls of flesh that beg to be squeezed. 

The kind of body that’s designed to fuck and be fucked. 

Again, the little virgin stowaway has absolutely no business looking like that. 

“What’s your name?” Jack finally asks, interrupting a long-winded and useless apology. 

The girl stammers. It’s been a trying day. She probably expected to be thrown overboard at her discovery, maybe killed directly. Maybe worse, though Jack does not abide rape on her vessel, a fact the girl might have known in choosing this particular ship to stowaway on. She still might have expected any other dastardly outcome. 

The young lady was altogether was quite shocked when, instead of any painful demise, Jack simply looked her over, turned to the quartermaster and said, “Bind her and leave her in my cabin for later.” With a final glance, mostly for the benefit of amusing the disgruntled crew, she said, “On my bed.”  

There was leering and cheering as the girl was led below deck. Jack then put the girl out of mind for the duration of the day.

There will be no forgetting the young lady after this. 

“Anne,” the girl says, shuffling in place. 

Jack leans back in her seat, crossing her arms, spreading her knees.  She taps her foot again. 

“Anne,” Jack repeats. Far too simple a name for such a woman, but charming in its quaintness.

A rosy blush blooms in the young woman’s cheeks. She nods. 

“Yes, Captain.”

“Jack.”  

There is a moment of silence. Anne swallows and looks at the floor. 

“Jack,” she repeats, and blinks at Jack under heavy eyelashes. 

It is truly a testament to the captain’s resolve that she is not begging on her knees for the girl’s attentions. 

Instead, she clears her throat. She slaps her knees and stands, staring down at the girl. The room flickers with torchlight, her broader shadow casting darkness over Anne the noble stowaway. 

Jack steps aside and warm light floods the cabin. Flecks of gold sparkle in Anne’s green eyes, though Jack does not miss the swelling of black at the centre of that curious gaze.  

“We have a problem, Miss Anne,” Jack says, fetching the bottle of red wine on her desk. She usually drinks from the mouth of it, but pours a little into an untouched goblet. She looks at Anne out of the corner of her eye. 

“A problem?” Anne asks, her voice gone small. 

Jack places the bottle on the table. She circles a ringed finger along the rim of the glass, then slowly begins to remove her jewelry – her one feminine proclivity that she mightily enjoys indulging in.

Three rings and several fine bracelets clink as she places them down. A jeweled crucifix dangles between her breasts, barely concealed in a loose white shirt, messily unlaced from when she unbound her breasts. Her dark red coat has been shrugged casually over her shoulders, and she tries not to smile when Anne’s eyes roam her long legs and thick thighs, shapely clad in dark breeches. 

Anne’s gaze abruptly lifts when Jack removes her crucifix necklace, depositing it on the table with a slithering slip of silver through her fingers.

“Yes, Miss Anne,” Jack says. “A very large problem. You see…” She pushes off the table, taking the goblet with her. “Had you made these claims to me a week ago, I would have happily extended a temporary position onboard my ship. But you did not. You thought you could deceive me, and my men, and steal from us.”

“Oh no, I didn’t—”

“But you did, Miss Anne. You hid yourself on my vessel and for one whole week stole our food scraps, our water reserves, and our unwitting hospitality. And it may be appropriate for a young lady to take without giving onboard a merchant’s ship. However…” 

Jack approaches Anne and the lady takes one tentative step away. Then she goes very still, like a deer considering her huntress, and eyes the wine as Jack enters her proximity. 

“Onboard a pirate ship,” Jack says, “If you want something, you must give something in return. Every man here offers his labour and in return I secure them their wealth. No one, not even me, takes more than an equal share of what we earn. We work together to keep our ship running and our pockets lined. You, my dear, have a debt to pay, and an occupation you must assume, should you desire to remain on my ship.”

Anne stares at the floor. Jack touches one finger below her chin and listens to the sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry, I…” The girl stutters over her reply, very pointedly avoiding eye contact. 

“Are you thirsty?” Jack asks, raising the goblet. 

Anne takes a steadying breath then nods, the iron shackles behind her back rattling. 

“Then as we discussed,” Jack says, holding the goblet away, “If you want something, you must offer something in return. This isn’t your parlour at tea-time. If you take something, then you must give something back.” 

Anne stares at the goblet, then looks at Jack. She licks her lips. Jack stares at the careful swipe of her tongue, the dampness left on that full bottom lip. She could almost forget who was seducing whom. 

“I don’t have anything,” Anne says. 

“You have lips,” Jack says, almost carelessly, so distracted with the subject of her comment.  They part around a breath and she imagines plunging her fingers between those soft, wet lips, imagines a curious tongue swiping at her fingers, sucking them down into that wet heat. Her first destination after that would be one pert nipple, circled through the white shift until it was both hard and damp in the thin material.

Jack doubts Anne’s deliberations wonder quite so far, or graphically, but she does look at Jack with a startled expression. 

“A kiss,” Jack says, “Right here.” She taps her cheek and smiles. 

The smile is far more natural than Jack would like. She feels downright intoxicated with the pleasant heat thrumming low in her belly. This evening could prove dangerous over the long haul, yet she is quite uncaring to the consequences. Jack has never been short of women’s company on the occasion she has desired it, but little Anne the stowaway has her throbbing with pure, unbridled need.  

And the simple creature has enthralled the infamous captain with scarcely more than a breath, a blink, and a blush. 

“Oh,” Anne says, staring at that cheek in the golden light of the cabin. “All right.”

Jack is not so much taller, but tall enough, especially in her boots. So she leans down, offering her face. 

Anne very delicately presses her lips to her cheek, more a touch than a kiss, but already blazing in its impression.  She lifts onto the tips of her toes and lowers again, staring at Jack’s cheek like she can see the remains of her shy kiss. 

Jack almost wonders if she’s blushing herself, a red flush of lusty drunkenness. But she trusts her long-hardened composure and simply offers Anne the goblet.

Anne, apparently forgetting her wrists are bound, clanks and rattles in the effort to bring her hands forward. They don’t budge. Before she can remark at this, Jack lifts the goblet. Anne stares at it like it’s a foreign, unknown thing, then looks at Jack the same way. 

“What is it?” Jack asks. “Don’t like wine?”

Anne considers her circumstance for a moment, then hesitantly answers. 

“You are quite unlike any woman I’ve ever known,” Anne says. 

She opens her mouth regardless. 

Jack gently pours wine past her lips, watching the tart red liquid dribble over that sweet tongue. 

“You must have known those women intimately to know for certain,” Jack quips, and Anne chokes on the wine. Oh-so helpfully, Jack whips a handkerchief out of her coat pocket. “There, there,” she says, dabbing at those delicate pink lips. “Women and wine are a heady combination, I fear.” 

Her teasing tone loosens the tension in Anne’s form. Her shoulders slacken and feet shuffle as Jack steps away. She returns the goblet to the table, idly sifting through her jewelry. 

“Earlier,” Anne says, her voice evidently returned after a brief lapse in quietude, “At your implications—” She laughs here, a delightful sound that breaks gooseflesh over Jack’s skin. “I thought your insinuations were, well…” Anne clears her throat but smiles softly. “I thought they were _sexual_ in nature.” 

She whispers the more explicit word. It may very well be her first utterance of such a thing. 

Jack laughs as well, though it’s low, but just as amused. She turns slowly, resting languidly against the table. She crosses her arms over her chest. 

“It was,” she says simply.

Anne goes stiff again, countenance almost scandalized. But the colour does not drain from her face. No, that is not the ashen pall of fear. If anything, the pink blossoms to a scorching red. Her manacles rattle. 

“But, but…” Anne looks Jack over completely, like she has misunderstood some fundamental intricacy to this exchange.  “But you’re a woman.” 

“Yes,” Jack says, with a gaze that devours in its thorough hunt, “I am.” 

Anne brings her feet together. Her thighs press close, every muscle clenching. The blue of her eyes is almost non-existent, swallowed by the inky depth within.

 _That_ is the expression of a girl affected by a smouldering heat in her belly. And who is quite unsure what to do about it. 

Fortunately for her, Jack knows exactly what to do. 

“Would you like me to remove your restraints?” Jack asks. “You must be very uncomfortable.” 

Anne blinks to attention, like she has just been roused from slumber. She swallows again and doesn’t speak, but nods. 

Jack smiles, almost playfully. 

“Well then,” she says, “What will you be giving me in return?” 

Anne is overcome with momentary indignance, embarrassed and flushed, and she furrows her brow. 

“But you’re the one who had me chained up in the first place,” she protests. 

“It was that or toss you over for a swim,” Jack says. “Really, you should be thanking me. But I’ll give you that favour for free. Now – do you want me to unlock those irons, or would you prefer to wear them for the remainder of the night?” 

The chains rattle. Anne straightens and lifts her chin, suddenly proud. The many facets of this young lady are endlessly enchanting. Jack wonders what else she hides away. 

“What do you want?” Anne asks. 

A very dangerous question. Jack, as per the code of a gentleman pirate, and a woman at that, side-steps it with grace. She uncrosses her arms and grasps the table beneath her. 

“Enough,” she answers. “But I have moral convictions. They may differ from the moral alignment of, say, your Royal Navy, but I am in possession of my own honour regardless.” She stands straight and makes a point of looking Anne over in her swagger forward. “I don’t take what is not willingly offered,” she says, then strolls right past Anne. “So if it would be more to your liking, you are perfectly welcome to assume the occupation of my cabin-floor swabber.” She gestures to a basin and rags, then grins at Anne. “I assure you, it’s not so terrible an occupation. Simply a boring chore that must be done.” 

Anne turns to regard the basin. Then she looks at Jack, and her mind wanders far in consideration.  Jack wishes desperately to hear those thoughts, because whatever image she conjures leaves Anne blushing scarlet again. She drops her gaze to the floor.  

“Or?” Anne asks. 

Jack’s heart beats steady and fast, keeping time to the eager pulse deep inside her. 

“Or…” Jack says, and approaches Anne slowly, like she’s a fragile bird who might take off at the slightest provocation. 

She is not, but she is a highly sensitive and situationally shy virgin. A fact so plain, she might as well brandish it with a flag. 

Still, Jack deigns to question her, mostly in want of seeing that blush deepen further. She wants it to seep back into her blood, to pound hotly and make Anne press her thighs together again. She wants those thighs to part with a trembling instinct, soft under the callouses of Jack’s war-wearied hands. Inviting her in, even after revealing the answer to question so intimate as—

“Are you a virgin, Miss Anne?”

The question has the desired effect, right down to the gasping breath. Jack barely refrains from tugging on Anne’s shift, pulling it taut over the stiff nipples protesting their confines.  

Anne leans towards Jack, and the rocking of the ship is not to blame. 

“Of course,” she says. “I once saved myself for my husband.  Now I save myself for God.”

“For God?” Jack asks, wondering exactly how far the Creator has taken this jest. “How do you mean?”

Anne curls her toes. The shackles clink. 

“I intend to enter a convent,” she says, and looks at Jack pointedly. “I can’t imagine a woman like you would understand the inclination, but I do.”  

Jack really cannot help her smile now. She reaches out and touches a springy, brown curl. Anne blinks at her hand. 

“What called you to service God?” Jack asks, her suggestive phrasing far from accidental. 

“I… I was to be married, and I realized that was not a life I wanted to live. My father did not understand, but I knew it in my heart, so I left. And now—”

“And now you’re here,” Jack says, tucking the curl behind Anne’s ear. She allows her fingers to spill over that smooth cheek, watching how Anne’s eyelids seem heavy all of a sudden. They fall over her wide eyes, blinking heavy and slow like a contented cat. The girl nearly purrs as Jack swipes her fingers along her throat. Her head tips ever so slightly, permitting the touch. 

Jack pulls away. Anne lowers her head, realizing herself.  

“Do you know what I want?” Jack asks. 

Anne shakes her head, _no_. She looks up at Jack beneath her lashes. 

Jack has never been more grateful for her particular sex; if she was in possession of a cock, she would be adjusting her breeches relentlessly. As it is, she still has to shift weight from one foot to the next. 

“What I desire…” Jack sweeps her knuckles across Anne’s collarbone, drawing the backs of her fingers gently down. She skims the outer swell of her breast. 

Anne’s whole chest lifts, filling with deep breath, as Jack leans in to speak low in her ear. 

“I wish to give you _absolute_ _satisfaction_ , Miss Anne,” she says. “Will you grant me that liberty?” 

A little squeak of surprise bursts past Anne’s lips. She tips back her head to regard Jack, finding their faces incredibly close. Jack lowers a hand to Anne’s hip, carefully grasping it. The second hand follows, and she draws Anne even closer, so their bodies fit together, and those luscious curves press into her so rich and temptingly.   

“ _Satisfaction_ ,” Anne repeats. She stares at Jack’s mouth. “That… that sounds as though it would be to my benefit, not yours.” 

“Believe me, Miss Anne, it is quite to my benefit,” Jack says, unable to help her wandering hands. They slide around and down. The curve of Anne’s bottom fills both hands, and she gives the supple flesh a good squeeze. The chains rattle frantically and Anne lifts onto her toes. Jack releases her, feels the weight of her body bounce back, and grasps her hips again. 

“You see, something happens to a woman when she finds _true_ satisfaction,” Jack says. She walks backward and draws Anne with her. Anne follows, and would probably do so even without the heavy hands on her hips. “You may find yourself feeling somewhat…”  Jack pretends to search for the word. “ _Empty_ ,” she finally says, and hits the table behind her. 

She halts, Anne pressing against her with one more step. Jack is mindful of the bare toes in front of her, and carefully nudges those feet apart with her boot. Anne shuffles in acquiescence. 

“Empty,” Anne repeats, and her eyes wander the exposed skin of Jack’s chest, eying where her breasts swell in the man’s shirt. Her own chest lifts and falls with quick breath. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You will,” Jack says, reaching behind herself for her keys. “If you allow me to deliver you there, you’ll understand.” 

She grabs the keys and dangles them before Anne, smiling, though she cannot muster any silliness. The haze of lust has truly descended. 

“Will I?” Anne asks. 

Jack eases her thigh between Anne’s. The hem of her shift rucks up just a bit.

Anne’s mouth falls helplessly open. 

“Oh, yes,” Jack says. “Something sublime happens.” She rattles the keys, a promise of utmost liberation. “No matter how soft that little virgin cunt might be, it will be begging me to fill it up with something that touches you deeper than prayer.”

Anne is practically beaming with heat, crackling over her skin like fire. Jack reaches around her and strokes the inside of her wrists. 

“Have you ever been inside another woman, Anne?” Jack asks, dropping the teasing formality. 

Anne shudders. 

“I assure you, there is no greater pleasure than sinking yourself into such perfect warmth.” Jack leans forward to peer over Anne’s shoulder, looking down at the lock and key. 

At the offering, Anne presses her face into Jack’s throat, and Jack almost forgets herself. 

“Just like that,” Jack says, her own fingers trembling as Anne breathes heavy into her skin. “Two women who find each other and reach that deep, untouched place, so secret and so hungry.” 

She fits the key in the lock.

“Would you like me to take you there, Anne?” she asks. 

Anne lifts her head and nods. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Jack.” 

Anne breathes in. “Jack,” she says, and breathes out.

Jack undoes the lock in one swift movement. The chains clatter to the floor and Anne swings her arms forward, grasping her wrists. Jack rubs the subtle indentation, the skin gone raw where she pulled at her restraints. Jack makes sweet nothing sounds of comfort, shaking her head. 

“Poor Anne,” she says, grasping the young lady’s shoulders and squeezing. 

She massages down her arms. Anne curls up tight, but her expression is so blissful as to convince Jack she has already climaxed. But the excited shiver working its way down her spine indicates otherwise.

Anne opens her eyes to watch Jack lift a wrist to her mouth. Jack doesn’t for a moment break their gaze as she kisses the razed flesh. It’s warm, and Anne’s pulse pounds thickly under the touch of her lips. Anne could not hide her desire if she tried, and Jack suspects she is trying. But her lips are open and her eyes are hazy, and her blood races and her toes curls, and she sucks in a long breath when Jack opens her mouth and licks at her pulse point. 

“Better?” Jack asks. 

Anne nods, blinking fast. She leans heavily forward, her hands clasped over her heart as she moves onto her tiptoes. Jack allows her, curious where she might take this approach. But Anne settles back down, mouth opening around unspoken words, then closing in acquiescence with undoubted propriety. 

Anne blushes like a true English rose, and Jack is determined to see that flower blossom. She has never had any interest in flowers or virgins or young English nobles, but somehow this embodiment of all those things has enraptured her. 

Jack slides her hand through Anne’s long smooth hair, gathering it in her fingers near the scalp, then tugs with a quick enough jerk that Anne squeaks. Jack spins her around with another quick pull. Then, with one sharp smack to her rear, she throws the girl face-down on the bed. 

Anne catches herself on her hands, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. She pushes it back and begins to turn, but Jack tumbles onto the bed beside her and halts her action. One strong hand between her shoulder blades, and she lowers Anne to the bed again. It is the perfect size for just two people, though they occupy it horizontally at present. 

Jack slouches lazily on her side, propping her head on her fist and tracing circles over Anne’s back with her other hand. Anne’s feet hang off the bed, dangling just above the floor, and her hands are under her belly. She keeps her face down-turned. 

“Anne,” Jack says softly, dragging her nails down the fine dip of Anne’s spine. “Look at me.”

Anne’s hips seem to lift of their own accord, then settle when Jack’s fingers retreat. Jack continues these long strokes for a moment, up and down, while Anne gathers resolve and slowly turns her face. She stares up at Jack, with more keenness than fear, but an obvious nervousness in anticipation of her world expanding. 

“There you are,” Jack says, smiling. Her fingers wander higher and she pulls that curtain of lovely hair away from Anne’s face, smoothing it over her back, tucking it behind her ear. Anne slides her own hands up, out from under her belly, and carefully tucks them under her chin. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Anne,” Jack says. “I hope you believe me.”

“I do,” Anne answers without hesitation, her voice low but certain. Her eyes almost glimmer in the candlelight, and her body goes lax beneath Jack’s hand. “I think if you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now.”

She looks at Jack with such unspeakable sweetness, her tone rich with honest conviction, and it draws Jack to a shuddering halt. It is only a moment, but a powerful one, in which the heat so far relegated to her nether flies upward. It beats in her heart, warming a long-shadowed cockle, and the unexpected sentiment startles her. On the rare occasion this meticulously-bound shadow has been breached, Jack is quick to quell the intruder before they can venture further. 

But Anne’s longing stare, wary but truly affectionate, paralyzes that more menacing part of her. Instead, Jack can only slip her fingers through that lovely soft hair and resume a downward slide of her hand. 

“You ought to be careful, my darling girl,” Jack says, though Anne is probably not much younger than her, “When making deals with pirates.” 

Jack looks down, and that pleasant pounding returns deep inside her. Anne’s body rises and falls with perfect, precise swells. Her shoulders, her elegant spine, the generous curve of her bottom. It’s no wonder God has endeavoured to call this one home. Jack is already reluctant to part with such beauty. 

 _Do forgive me, Father,_ she mentally prays, though not even her Spanish Catholic guilt can fracture her desire, only augment it, _But I’m going to have to borrow this one a while._  

She slides her hand over the curve of Anne’s bottom, listens to the little intake of breath, and runs her fingers lower to the hem of the shift. She draws it just a bit up her thigh, then gazes down at Anne. 

Anne stares downward, attempting to watch, but looks up at Jack’s glance. She falls into their gaze, sturdy hazel eyes melding with blue, when Jack strikes her soft bottom through the shift. 

“ _Oh_!”

Unbearably delightful. Jack smooths her palm flat over the quivering flesh, looking down, listening to Anne’s breath go shallow. When she is sufficiently settled, she smacks her again, and this time watches the gentle ripple of flesh beneath the fine white fabric. She looks at Anne for one more hit. Anne closes her eyes at the impact, but her lips form a round _O_ of muted pleasure. 

“I thought you didn’t want to hurt me,” Anne murmurs, but it lacks true accusation. Her eyelids are heavy again. 

Jack smiles and squeezes that tantalizing flesh. 

“Are you in pain?” she asks. 

Anne promptly blushes and buries her face in the bed. Jack laughs, then pushes herself onto her elbow. It gives her better vantage as she draws the shift up, up, up, exposing the sweet, newly-pinkened flesh of Anne’s backside. Anne kicks her legs a little, toes searching for the floor to no avail. 

Jack supposes this is a night of firsts for them both. She has never been with a virgin, not even when she was one. This is also her first time so preoccupied with the little details of a woman. She has always been drawn to women, but her life has granted little leeway for intimate liaisons. On her fleeting respites, she tends to seek immediate gratification. She would never linger in a single place. But she could content herself with raining heat onto Anne’s rear for the duration of the night. 

As it is, she smacks her once more, then allows her palm to linger on the flesh before sliding down to grip her thigh. 

“Come now,” Jack says, and tugs, smacking her thigh, “Get up for me. Now.” 

Anne makes little noises that please Jack, like amorous kittens purring at one another. Jack holds her hip steady as Anne shuffles up the bed, getting into position on her knees. Her spine slopes downward as she keeps her face buried in the blankets, her hands folded under her forehead. The position is even more obscene than Jack intended. She almost laughs aloud. 

“What this is?” Jack asks, then tugs at the hair pouring over Anne’s head. “Up. All the way.” 

Anne tentatively pushes herself onto her hands, her hair falling over her face. Jack brushes it back again and turns Anne’s face towards her. Anne swallows when their gazes meet. 

“Surely a devout young lady such as yourself did not enjoy being so roughly handled?” Jack asks. She slides her hand down the column of Anne’s back, over her bottom, and down to grasp her thigh. 

“Hm…” Anne bites her lip, then shakes her head, another _no_. 

“Of course not,” Jack says, sitting up all the way and leaning on her fist now. Her other hand continues to sweep down Anne’s thigh, starting on the outside and moving in. “You must be entirely appalled,” Jack says, “And will doubtlessly walk away from this venture claiming the wicked pirate captain forced her deviant sin upon your innocent body.” 

Jack barely skims between Anne’s thighs but already feels a trickle of dampness on the skin. She circles there, then traces one careful finger up to the ready and waiting flesh. Slick arousal coats her fingertip. She smiles down at Anne who regards her, wide-eyed, as Jack finds that long-ignored bead of pleasure. Protruding and swollen, it is wet and begging for attention. She circles it very, very lightly and Anne keens. 

“Oh dear. What is this, my sweet Anne?” Jack says, sliding her finger further through her folds, “It appears someone has gotten you very messy and wet.” She touches that unbreeched entrance and eases the tip of her finger in-and-out. Anne bucks in search of a deeper touch. Jack complies, however teasingly, and strokes two broad fingers along the dripping mouth of her cunt. “Now now,” Jack says, when Anne all but _mewls_ , “Who did this to you?” 

Anne huffs in frustration, her hands curling to fists on the bed.

“This doesn’t feel like satisfaction,” she says.

Jack laughs honestly, unable to stifle it. Then she reigns it in and forces a darker stare as she looks down at Anne.

“Satisfaction,” she says, and retreats from that damp heat. “You want satisfaction, do you?”

She flips Anne onto her back in one strong, fluid motion. Anne crumples, surprise etched on her face, and she instinctively pushes down her shift and closes her legs. Jack climbs over her, sliding her thigh between Anne’s, pressing the thick muscle against that most tender place. 

“All right then,” Jack says, rocking their hips together, pressing her thigh down deep. 

Anne grasps her shoulder and squeezes, her thighs clenching around Jack’s own. She blinks up at Jack and shivers when Jack ceases her rocking motion.

“Go on,” Jack says, “Take your satisfaction.” 

Anne is bemused and still for a moment. Jack helps, grabbing her thigh and hoisting it over her hip. It opens her up to the heavy weight of Jack’s thigh, spreads her nether lips just as her true lips part, exposing the part of her that is most in need of touch. Jack rubs against her and Anne bucks in return, her body realizing what it needs. She lets her head fall back and her eyes close. She lifts her hips, grinding slowly against Jack between her thighs. 

“Is that better, sweet Anne?” Jack asks, finding a counter-rhythm that encourages Anne to deepen her motions. Her pace increases. Jack can feel slickness on her breeches.  

Anne nods, her eyes squeezed closed and little hums tumbling over her lips. Jack squeezes her thigh, then lowers her face to the exposed line of her throat. She noses along its length and presses a kind kiss there. Anne makes a more guttural sound, thrusting her hips with determination now. Her fingers dig into Jack’s shoulders so intensely, Jack can feel it through her coat. 

“Just like that,” Jack speaks into her skin, her next kiss open-mouthed and hot on her throat. She nips at the skin and Anne squeaks, her thighs clenching. “Do you feel that?” Jack asks, the occasional angle of her thrust affording Jack a moment of equal pleasure, though not enough to reach that same climax. 

She stares down at Anne as her brow furrows, louder sounds breaking into her heavy breathing. 

“Sweet Anne,” Jack murmurs, grinding hard against her so Anne moans, pretty and low. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Anne does so, staring, her blue eyes overwhelmed with black as she is sucked down into the throes of pleasure. “Good girl. Now come for me, Anne. Come _hard_.”

She doesn’t need more encouragement than that, throwing back her head and shaking almost uncontrollably under Jack. Her thighs spasm, and more wetness leaks out of her. The room smells rich with sex. Jack kisses and sucks on that tender throat, rocking their hips together while Anne coos and breathes unevenly. 

Anne then strings her arms around Jack’s neck, holding her close, and her legs further part as she hooks one leg around her waist. 

Jack smiles into her skin, licking a delicious stripe below her jaw. She kisses Anne’s chin. Anne tips her head down so Jack can touch her tongue to her lips, tempting her with a kiss that does not come. 

“I have you now, don’t I?” Jack asks. Anne opens her eyes again, no less aroused than before. Only now the haze has left her expression and she is left very, very aware of the throbbing between her legs. “Was I right?” Jack asks, lifting herself enough to slide a hand between their bodies. 

Their lips brush with each spoken word. When Anne licks her own lips, her tongue brushes Jack’s mouth. 

The young lady swallows down a groan when Jack slips two fingers through her abundant wet. Jack lets that ever-needy nub of flesh rest between her fingers, a tantalizing touch, while she idly taps the unfilled entrance. 

“Oh…” Anne squirms, releasing her hold on Jack to spread her legs. 

“Beautiful girl,” Jack murmurs, pecking her lips in praise for the brazen action. “You feel empty now, don’t you, Anne? Emptier than you’ve ever been.” Jack strokes her, Anne scoring her nails across the red coat as Jack wets her fingers so-close to inside her. “Do you want me to fill that emptiness, Anne?” 

Anne nods, digging her nails into the coat. 

“Do you want another woman inside you, Anne?” 

Anne nods again, arching her back when Jack grabs her hands and pins them to the bed. She lifts herself up, kneels between Anne’s legs and stares down. The shift rests over her belly, exposing a soft thatch of dark hair and the obvious wetness smeared across her thighs. Anne goes to cover herself at the heady stare, but Jack gently takes her hands and presses them down again. 

“Anne,” Jack murmurs, running her nails along the inside of Anne’s arms, teasing the sensitive skin there. Her fingers trail over the rich curve of her breasts, her nipples straining against the material, and lays both hands on her soft belly. 

“Sweet Anne,” Jack repeats, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Anne blushes wine-red crimson right down to her belly, but she is not quaking or nervous or reticent in reply. She stares up at Jack, splayed open with her arms at her sides and thighs wide apart, and with a deep breath, answers quite steadily, “Yes. Captain. Jack. Please.” 

Jack rips off her coat, throwing it behind her. She rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, aware Anne is staring at her breasts as she leans over her. 

“Please, what, Miss Anne?” Jack teases, kissing her chin, then her chest, then just beside one nipple. 

Anne twists the bedsheets between her fingers. 

“Please…” She squeezes the fabric so hard, her knuckles whiten. “Please fuck me. Jack. Please.” 

Jack kneels so close to her, right between her legs, their cunts are almost touching where she slips her fingers between them. 

“Gladly, my sweet,” Jack says, and finally, _finally_ sinks her fingers into that exquisite passage. 

Anne’s body has opened itself completely, allowing two fingers to slide into her with ease. At the sudden intrusion, however, instinct clenches that heat around her fingers. Anne goes tight, so tight that the sensation of it runs down Jack’s arm and dashes right to her own throbbing core. 

Anne arches her back, untucking the bedclothes with a sudden tug. She flattens her hands again, breathing hard as Jack hushes her. 

“Shh. Easy,” Jack murmurs. “Let me in. Let me inside you, Anne.”  

She puts her other hand on Anne’s thigh, smoothing it with long, soothing strokes. Anne bends her knees, pure instinct, and tilts her hips back. She loosens around Jack, allowing her to plunge her fingers deeper. A little more resistance, a little more murmuring, then her knuckles are at the breach and she pulls back only to dive back in. 

“Faster,” Anne breathes. “More.”

“Patience,” Jack teases. “One at a time.” 

In compliance, nonetheless, Jack speeds her pace. She rubs that soft inner thigh then slides her hand up, past where she’s fucking Anne so well that wet seeps out around her fingers, and slides her hand under the shift. She pinches the underside of a breast. Anne slides her hands underneath herself at the touch. Jack laughs gently. 

“Perhaps you would have enjoyed it even more had I removed the restraints _after_ ,” she teases.

Anne, who has closed her eyes, opens them to stare heatedly at Jack. It steals any remaining frivolity, the air thick with passion as Jack shifts, angling her fingers differently. She grasps a breast with her other hand, circles her thumb around a nipple that has taunted her all evening, then decides she wants to see that as well. She pushes up the shift, tucking it under Anne’s chin. Anne clenches around her again. 

“Oh, Anne. You terribly cruel thing,” Jack says, plucking at one hard nipple. “Hiding yourself away from my eyes when you are so, so beautiful…” 

A cruel jest of God, indeed. Her breasts swell beautifully, her nipples thick and pink, her belly soft with its own curves and her hips built to expose that perfect cunt for fucking. 

It would be a _far_ greater sin to let her leave un-fucked. God must have thrown them together for that very reason. Even He could not deny this paramount specimen of creation. 

Anne is meeting the thrust of her hand vigorously now, twisting her own hands together under her back. She makes gasping, throaty noises like no paid mistress could ever feign, her breast spilling over the cup of Jack’s hand. Jack pushes against her to watch the ripple of her whole body with each deep touch. She kneads the breast in her hand, rolling the nipple under her thumb. 

As she does so, she turns her hand to press her thumb against the hardened bead of Anne’s arousal. It is so thick and swollen, Jack wonders if it might burst at the touch. 

Anne just about dissolves with such a detonation, her whole body arching and a near-scream tearing past her lips. Jack moves her fingers with quick, practiced precision, sliding in-and-out with the source of all pleasure pulsing under her rolling thumb. Anne throws her arms above her head, untucking more of the bedclothes, staring down her breasts at the hands now bringing her over that transcendent ledge. 

A tear trickles free in her obvious satisfaction, her whole body sinking in the bed as she goes slack. She tries and fails to close her legs, and suffices to grab Jack by the wrist and ease her hand away. 

“So much,” she murmurs. “So much…”

She is easily moved in her post-coital haze. Jack slips both hands under her arms and hauls her into a sitting position. With a little manoeuvring, she sits against her pillow with Anne curled in her lap. She smooths her fingers through the girl’s hair, listening to Anne restore the cadence of her breath. 

“Oh,” Anne says, tucking her chin beneath Jack’s chin. “That was nice.” 

Jack tries not to laugh, again. She lifts her hand instead. Anne follows that hand with a studious gaze, lifting her head to watch as Jack sucks her fingers into her mouth. Her eyes widen, staring as Jack licks them clean. She draws them slowly from her mouth, staring down at Anne. 

“You have made quite a mess of me, Anne,” she teases. 

Whatever Jack expects, it is not for Anne to carefully seize her fingers. Not for Anne to carefully bring them to her lips. Not for Anne to open her mouth and carefully take them inside. 

Just the very tips, but they scorch over her tongue and sit between her pursed lips. Anne looks up at her as if seeking validation for this action. 

Jack is keenly aware of her own untouched desire, and shifts so Anne’s bottom is nestled right against her. 

Anne releases her hand and stares at Jack’s undone shirt. Uncertain fingers tug at the loose laces. She parts the material, one sleeve slipping down her broad shoulder and revealing a thick bicep tattooed with twirling roses. 

Jack watches her, a hand in her hair as Anne leans forward. She places a shy, chaste kiss just above a breast, nipples still politely concealed.

“I suppose,” Anne says quietly, but certainly, “That seeing as you brought me to satisfaction twice, that would leave me indebted to you on the account of one.” 

Jack’s blood runs red-hot.  

“You learn very  quickly, Miss Anne,” she says. 

The smile Anne gives her is coy, but a little filthy. Noble little vixen. Jack smiles at her. 

Anne reaches for her again but Jack catches her hand, shaking her head. Anne looks at her in obvious confusion. Jack kisses the tips of her fingers. 

“That way another time, perhaps,” she says, then pushes Anne off her lap. “I’ll tell you what to do. Start by removing your shift.” 

Though she was quite exposed a moment ago, without the adrenaline of fucking to distract her, Anne becomes shy again. Jack gives her a moment to gather herself, shifting into a comfortable position. She lays on her back, pillow propped under head, with Anne kneeling beside her stretched-out legs. 

“And remove my boots,” Jack adds, kicking at her own heel to loosen them. 

Anne decides to occupy herself there first, taking her time unlacing the well-worn boots. Jack thinks about chastising her, but enjoys the sensual lull between them, the bubbling anticipation. She parts her own shirt further, Anne looking at her exposed breasts immediately. The boot hits the floor with a heavy _thud_. 

“Oh,” Anne says, staring. 

Jack touches herself, circling her thumbs around the darker brown of her nipples and sighing as her bare skin breathes the sex-heavy air of the cabin. She slouches down, throwing one arm behind her and resting there. Her other hand drapes over her crotch. With a lift of her eyebrows, she glances toward her other boot. 

That adorable blush returns as Anne quickly unlaces the other boot. She turns her back to Jack while dropping it off the bed, then takes a moment to herself. With that moment passed, she steps off the bed, then stares down at Jack. 

Jack drops her head back, strumming her fingers against her inner thigh. Anne’s gaze roams her body, her fingers curling into her palms as she lingers on the sight of her breasts. Jack understands the inclination, wishing to bask in such a sight herself. With a pointed look, she twirls her fingers, a mute gesture regarding the shift.  

Anne faces away, grasping the bottom of the shift and dragging it over her head. Jack is almost glad she turned away. It gives her a moment to compose herself, to return to her nonchalant languor. She adjusts the arm under her head and rubs between her legs for a fleeting moment. 

Anne turns, holding the shift above her chest, but gradually lowering it under Jack’s hungry gaze. Jack has no wish to conceal her desire but doubts she could stifle it regardless. The shift flutters to the floor and Anne stands there in a wash of golden light, her nipples puckered, and her thighs still damp from earlier. Jack stares at her, commits her body to memory for lonely nights at sea, then purposefully lifts her eyes to the gorgeous mouth that first caught her attention. 

“Come here, beautiful,” Jack says, uncrossing her legs. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer.” 

Anne moves swiftly on the bed, kneeling between Jack’s open legs. 

“Here, Anne,” Jack says, patting her own sex through her breeches, “Sit right here and lean over.” 

Anne is unintentionally seductive with her meticulous motions, moving slowly onto her hands to crawl forward. Jack can’t help but squeeze her own cunt again, grasping Anne’s hip when she is in close enough proximity. She helps Anne straddle her, grinding her clothed sex against Anne’s bare one. Anne plants her hands on Jack’s stomach, staring at her breasts, lifting her gaze higher and higher until their eyes meet. 

Jack beckons her forward with a wave. Anne leans over, blinking at Jack’s hand as it reaches for her. She remains there, hunched over, her breasts almost touching Jack’s own. Jack circles one finger over the shape of her lips. 

“God is very lucky to have your mouth in His service,” Jack says, slipping two fingers inside her mouth when Anne opens it to reply to such a crass comment. 

It is quickly forgotten. Anne hums, rocking her hips while Jack slides her fingers in-and-out of her mouth. When she slides a third in, stretching her lips around the digits, Anne makes a more guttural sound and almost chokes. Jack slips her fingers free, wiping the wet on her shirt then rubbing her thumb over the wet, reddened lips. 

“My lady,” she says. “You have been very good to me. Can you be good one more time?”

Anne nods, eyes dropping to Jack’s breasts again. Jack can’t remember the last time a woman admired her so blatantly, so amorously, so ardently. She laughs a little, arching her back and nodding. Anne needs no more encouragement, leaning down to press a tender kiss between her breasts. 

“You can do better than that,” Jack says, threading her fingers through Anne’s hair. “Open your mouth. Come now.”

Anne does so, parting her lips, kissing wetly at one breast. Jack indulges her, though she really wants that mouth elsewhere, but the sight of those lips wrapping tentatively around her nipple is irrevocably erotic. She follows Anne’s mouth with a lift of her chest, humming low and pleasant in her chest as that tongue flicks out and teases it. 

Jack pulls on those curly locks, bucking her hips, suddenly impatient. 

“Good girl, sweet girl,” Jack says, almost deliriously, touching those lips before pulling her hair again. “Down,” she says. 

Anne moves and Jack slides her fingers from her hair. She twists her own nipple while Anne tugs at the laces of her breeches. Her elegant fingers quiver and the knots multiply, so Jack ushers her further down. 

“That’s all right, my sweet,” she says, while Anne settles between her thighs, kneeling like Jack did early. “It’s not your fingers I need anyhow.”

“It’s… not?” Anne asks, looking confused again. 

Jack simply lifts a suggestive eyebrow and smacks her lips. With both hands, she unlaces her own breeches and parts the material. 

It takes a moment, but Anne arrives at a deduction. Upon realization, she blushes deeply again, touching her own lips. 

The action is painfully arousing. Jack pushes her breeches down her hips, exposing the black curls above her mound. 

“I’ve never…” Anne says, staring as that intimate part of Jack is exposed. “I might not be good.” 

“I suspect your skill will prove irrelevant,” Jack says. She holds out her hand. Anne takes it, squeaking when Jack tugs her forward. She grabs her hair again, takes reign and holds steady. “I already told you, Miss Anne, you have already made quite a mess of me.” 

Anne stares at Jack like she is unveiling a treasure. She helps tug the breeches down her thighs, just low enough that the entirety of her sex is on eager display. Anne swallows and Jack guides her down.  Anne slips onto her belly, props herself up on her elbows. The naked length of her exquisite body is almost enough to make Jack come right then and there. 

But she refrains, breathing deeply while lowering those lovely lips to her sex. Anne places a chaste kiss right at the mouth of her cunt, then licks her tongue over her own lips. Jack shudders, dropping her head back and lifting her hips. She tightens her grip in Anne’s hair, a wordless direction, and Anne complies. Her mouth returns there, kissing again. Kissing Jack like this is her mouth, like it might kiss her back with all the sweetness of real romance. 

Jack uses her free hand to part her nether lips. Anne kisses there, at the exposed wetness, then a little higher, a little higher still. Jack groans. Tugging on her hair, she guides Anne to the centre of her agony. 

“Open your mouth,” Jack says, throaty and low, “Lick. Suck.” 

Anne takes one agonizing moment then does so, licking lightly, then broadly. Wetness coats her tongue while Jack looks down. Anne has closed her eyes, her hands on Jack’s thighs, a content look on her face as her tongue swipes at the wetness before her. The sight is gorgeous and preposterously stimulating on its own. 

Jack lifts her hips, grinding against that sweet mouth. She pulls on her hair and Anne hums, licking harder. 

When her tongue rolls over that most tender place, Jack’s reaction is stark and vocal. Anne learns quickly and focuses her attention there, licking and kissing, wet and messy. Jack rocks her hips and tugs Anne’s hair, staring down at her, at her bobbing head, and relishing in the obscenely wet noises of their coupling. 

Then Anne opens her eyes, a bright wash of blue rushing up to meet Jack—just as she closes her lips around that nub and sucks like an obedient young lady. Jack wants to watch but her climax washes over her so quickly; she can’t help but throw back her head, buck her hips, and moan deeply. 

When her periphery is no longer blurred, Jack emerges from the lingering haze of lust to peer down at Anne. The young lady is wiping her mouth across the back of her hand but looking very pleased with herself. 

“Was that all right?” Anne asks, seemingly more at ease with her naked body as she sits upright. 

Jack is at a momentary loss for words, rare indeed, but gathers her bearings quickly enough. 

“Splendid, my pet,” she says, then points across the room. “Fetch me a rag and come back here. Hurry.”

Anne does so. Jack watches her cross to-and-fro, much more at ease, and is pleased when Anne settles against her in bed. 

Jack takes her time first tending to her lovely stowaway, and Anne laughs at the little swipes of the cloth over her skin. Jack takes care of herself and fastens her breeches again, then lays back contently. 

Anne, quite the forward creature now, makes herself at home snuggled against Jack. 

“Hmm,” she says, “Even better than I thought.”

Jack, with her arm around Anne, takes pause for a moment. 

“Thought about it, did you?” Jack asks, looking down at her. 

That is the unmistakable smirk of a young lady too smart for anyone’s own good. 

“Maybe,” she says “Do you think I picked this boat by accident?”

Jack, realizing there is much more to her bed companion than perhaps she first thought, rolls over to discover more. 


End file.
